often as any other genteel Slowbridge entertainer. She had risen at
seven, breakfasted at eight, dined at two, taken tea at five, and gone to
bed at ten, with such regularity for fifty years, that to rise at eight,
breakfast at nine, dine at three, and take tea at six, and go to bed at
eleven, would, she was firmly convinced, be but "to fly in the face of
Providence," as she put it, and sign her own death-warrant. Consequently,
it is easy to imagine what a tremor and excitement seized her when, one
afternoon, as she sat waiting for her tea, a coach from the Blue Lion
dashed--or, at least, _almost_ dashed--up to the front door, a young lady
got out, and the next minute the handmaiden, Mary Anne, threw open the
door of the parlor, announcing, without the least preface,--

"Your niece, mum, from 'Meriker."

Miss Belinda got up, feeling that her knees really trembled beneath her.

In Slowbridge, America was not approved of--in fact, was almost entirely
ignored, as a country where, to quote Lady Theobald, "the laws were
loose, and the prevailing sentiments revolutionary." It was not
considered good taste to know Americans,--which was not unfortunate, as
there were none to know; and Miss Belinda Bassett had always felt a
delicacy in mentioning her only brother, who had emigrated to the United
States in his youth, having first disgraced himself by the utterance of
the blasphemous remark that "he wanted to get to a place where a fellow
could stretch himself, and not be bullied by a lot of old tabbies." From
the day of his departure, when he had left Miss Belinda bathed in tears
of anguish, she had heard nothing of him; and here upon the threshold
stood Mary Anne, with delighted eagerness in her countenance,
repeating,--